Apples
by XxxXGreek GeekXxxX
Summary: Chiron is doing a check up on all the campers one night, and he finds Percy Jackson, a fairly new demigod, still awake. As it turns out, Percy doesn't like the limelight for more than just being plain modest, and he is in need of some help. Good thing Chiron shows up to have a nice little chat, huh? Now a series of oneshots that will involve the times Percy has "fallen." Complete.
1. Apples

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**I DO NOT OWN.**

Apples

_**Chiron POV**_

**Chiron was doing a night check on all of the cabins.**

No one knew he did this, but that was because everyone was sleeping when he would go around and make sure everyone was in their appropriate cabins and not missing. So he was safe to peek in on his students without being caught.

Or so he thought.

Chiron galloped (literally) by cabin three, Poseidon's cabin, where only one lone demigod stay: Perseus Jackson. Perseus, preferable Percy, was still new to the world of gods and monsters, though he had already successfully completed his first quest not too long ago. Chiron had carefully noted that young Percy had at first stubbornly pushed away the simple fact that he was indeed a child of a god when he first came, as if Percy already had too many unbelievable things to deal with in his life, as if he had secrets beyond even the gods. But Chiron had pushed the nagging feeling he had no idea was coming from away. He was a mere—though undoubtedly powerful—young demigod. What was he to know?

Chiron silently walked to the door leading to the interior of cabin three. When he entered, he was met with a surprise. Percy was sitting on the edge of the bed above his, looking down on Chiron with his left eyebrow raised, a serious expression swirling in his sea green eyes. Chiron, unknowingly by him, took a step back.

He tilted his head slightly back to see the Son of Poseidon. "Why, hello, my boy. What are you doing up at this hour?"

Percy shrugged, his head lolling to the side. "I dunno."

Chiron raised both his eyebrows. "I think not."

A small smile swept onto Percy's face. "Okay, you caught me. I was thinking."

Chiron had a feeling there was more to it than what he was letting on, but held his tongue. Instead of prying, he asked a simple, innocent question. "About what?"

Percy frowned, faint worry lines creasing his forehead. Chiron couldn't help but wonder what could have made this naturally happy demigod worry. He was so deep in his thought, he nearly missed Percy's answer, but he was glad he hadn't.

"Chiron, why do people want the limelight?"

Chiron was slightly taken aback by this question, but answered anyway. "Often, they relish in people praising them, wishing they could reach their high level of expertise."

Percy nodded, as if he already knew that answer and he just needed Chiron to say it aloud. "Okay."

Chiron was about to bid farewell, to tell the child to get some sleep, but a soft, almost impossible feeling in the back of his mind, kept him in the cabin. It was really as if it wasn't even there, but it was impossible to miss. He scrunched his eyebrows together. If he listened closely, it seemed the feeling was a soft lingering voice that was whispering a jumbled mess of words. Were there more than one? Were they speaking in a foreign language? It seemed ancient…

Chiron was pulled from his thoughts as Percy mumbled something to himself. It was quiet; nearly lip spoken, but Chiron's acute ears caught a sentence. "You shouldn't listen to them, Chiron."

Chiron was about to speak up and finally ask, finally break through Percy's wall of secrets, when Percy leaned forward on the bed and asked: "Do you know why I'd rather stay out of the limelight, be in people's reach?"

"I… I have no idea."

"Think of it like an apple tree. The best apples are at the top."

"But isn't that where you would want to be? Do you not wish to be one of the best?"

Percy shook his head. "No, it's not that at all."

"Then why not go above, to the sky?"

"That's the scary thing, though, Chiron. The higher up you go, the more the winds knock you around, the _easier_ you fall, the _farther_ you fall, the _harder_ you fall."

Chiron shook his head in bewilderment. "We would be there to catch you, Percy."

A long silence filled the room, layering itself over and over again, like a thick wool blanket that was inescapable.

"Chiron, have you ever seen an apple fall from a tree?"

Chiron hesitated, deep in remembrance. "No."

"And how many apples have you seen on the ground?"

Again, Chiron hesitated to answer. "Hundreds."

Percy nodded his head, like he knew the answer. He probably did. "Exactly. And how many of those apples were still clean and edible looking?"

"Very, very few."

"My point has been made."

Chiron stood there, thoughts coming and going through his head. All of them had one thing in common: _So this is what he feels like; this is one of his fears._

It was a strange fear, of falling yet not falling at all, of the new and changed, of being out of reach of those once held close, of not being caught in a time of weakness, of never finding a way back up to the world once inhabited.

It was a fear of one with an inability to thoroughly trust anyone.

This was a side Chiron had never thought he'd meet, because there was no distrust in Percy, only trust and loyalty. Or so it seemed. Apparently, it was all an act, an act Percy had admitted to.

Chiron clopped nervously back and forth, pondering a way to change _this_—Percy's fear. He opened his lips slowly, the words still forming in his mind, and then he spoke. But it wasn't a true answer that came out. "Have you ever fallen before, Perseus?"

A look of pain flashed on the boy's face, but just as quickly it disappeared. "Yes."

"And are you battered and bruised?"

"No—not really, I guess."

"Then why would it be any different if you fall again?"

Percy furrowed his brows. "Because I'm already weak. I've fallen before."

"Would you like to test this theory? With an apple perhaps?"

Percy stared at Chiron, slowly leaning even further in the bed. "By dropping an apple. We could test this theory by dropping an apple."

Chiron nodded his head slowly. "Yes, just from the bed you sit on." He watched as Percy held out a shiny, red apple—though he had no idea where it came from—and dropped it.

The apple hit the ground with a thud. It bounced once then rolled over to one of Chiron's hooves. Chiron bent down, gently grabbed the apple, and then held it up for Percy to see.

It was perfectly fine, as if nothing at all had happened to it. Not a single bruise or dent.

Chiron tossed it up to Percy. "Now, the apple has fallen, _and_ climbed back up to the top."

With that he clopped out of the cabin, and only one thought remained with him for that night and many nights more: _When did you fall, Perseus? _

**Yes, my fanfictions are leading up to Percy's past. Don't worry. **

**Peace and all that other stuff.**

**~XxxXGreek GeekXxxX **


	2. Fall Into Depression

**So, so, _so_, sorry for not updating sooner! And thank you all who reviewed! And if you put this story as a favorite or follow!**

**RICK RIORDAN OWNS PJO, NOT ME.**

**Warning: Will be depressing, OOCness will be everywhere, and might be slightly descriptive in an area. It is slightly darkish, too.**

Fall into Depression

**He was six years old the first time he truly fell,** on May 12, 2001, the day after _The Worst Day of His Life_.

Sure, that was a young age, and he understood that. But it didn't help him one bit. He knew he was depressed, his mother knew, his therapist knew, and everyone else knew he was depressed; the only difference was that his mother and therapist and everyone else cared about his depression. Percy didn't.

Percy couldn't bring himself to care.

He just couldn't.

Sort of like how he couldn't bring himself to forget about _her_.

_She _was missing, kidnapped, maybe even dead, murdered.

And the police blamed him.

Percy didn't see the logic in their theory. Yes, he was the last person to see her; yes, he was found at the crime scene; and yes, Percy had seemed like he was guilty of _something_, but that was only because he _had_ felt guilty of something.

It was _his_ idea to see who the strange people were, the strange people who had crept into the alley right next to Ms. Jackson's work building. It was _his_ idea to start walking off, convincing her to follow. It was _his_ idea to walk into the alley, completely and utterly exposing themselves.

It was all his idea, his stupid, selfish idea that he only wanted to do because he was curious.

_Maybe curiosity did kill the cat_, he would think sourly to himself.

But he loved her, not the I'm-going-to-marry-her-one-day love, but the brotherly/sisterly love, on an extreme scale, that is. And, Percy would admit to himself and only to himself day after day and night after night, he trusted _her_ even more than his own mother; he felt closer to _her_ than he did his own mother; he would listen to _her_ more than he would his own mother; and he would do _more_ than anything for _her_, which was more than his mother, which was _only_ anything.

_So_, Percy would conclude. _I did not, would not, _could not _hurt _her _like the police say I did, even if I am "crazy," or "mentally unstable." _

And that's the way it was. That's the way Percy knew it should be. That's the way the police should picture it. That's the way everyone should see it.

Too bad that didn't happen. The police continued to question him; the neighbors around his apartment building threatened to sue him for something he didn't do and wouldn't allow him near their children; his teachers said to throw him in jail, even if he was a juvenile delinquent; news reporters would pester him constantly, asking, "Do you feel guilty?" or "Why did you do it?"

Smelly Gabe did not make matters any better by continuously saying that he _was_ indeed, "crazy," and that he _was_, "mentally unstable," and that he _was_ capable of hurting the person he held dearest and loved like no other.

So, when that was finally drilled into everyone's minds, the police would go up to him and ask the heart wrenching question: "What happened?"

Percy would panic. He would start screaming for them to go away and clutch his head, begging for the memories to cease. No one would help; only stare, as if _he_ should be helping _them_. Percy—when nobody would move an inch, not even his therapist and mother—would then huddle himself into a corner far away from everything and cry and sob about blood and knifes and gunshots and last whispered "I love you's."

Then the police would leave, and Percy would be left with his mother whispering quiet nothings in his ear. When he would finally calm, she would leave, only to return with a small cup of water that would have to be forced down his throat and a single, whole apple.

The apple was the only thing he would willingly eat. Everything else was either forced down his throat or entered his body through an IV.

"But," he would say when he was in the mood (which was very rare, for he barely talked), "it's my good luck charm, like my beanie. 'An apple a day keeps the bad luck away.'" He would then point out, "I didn't eat an apple on May 11th, but I have every other day. On the days I eat apples, nothing bad happens. On the days I don't, something bad does happen, like May 11th."

Then Percy would stop talking all together until someone questioned him again or he felt like telling the obvious, like how he needed an apple a day to keep the bad luck away.

And every night Percy would listen to his therapist quietly talking to his mother about his state of mind. "He has fallen into depression," he would tell his mother every night. "We can give him medications and make him see dozens of therapist that would talk to him every day about what happened and what he witnessed, but I've never seen anything like his condition ever before. I don't think anybody has. Your son, Ms. Jackson, has truly lost it. He's not only depressed, but he's been through hell and might very well still be dwelling there. I don't think anybody can help him. Not now, not ever."

Percy's mother would nod with tears dripping down her face and tightly clasp his therapist's hands in hers, silently praying to whoever was above to help him.

And Percy would sit around the corner, hands woven together and placed in his lap, head lightly thudding the wall, mind praying to whoever was above.

But Percy wasn't praying for his sanity; he was praying that _she_ would come back to him.

Only _she_ could pull him completely out of the giant pit of pain he was in; only _she _could stop his fall into depression.

**Wow… again… This has so much angst. Who feels sad now? **

**Who thinks I'm evil because I didn't tell you who _she_ is? Do not fret, for you will learn soon enough, just not now. **

_**Review**_**! Favorite! Follow!**

**Peace and all that other stuff.**

**~XxxXGreek GeekXxxX**


	3. Fall Into Darkness

**THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR FAVORITES, FOLLOWS AND REVIEWS! Seriously, THANK YOU! My heart skipped a beat when I read them. So, here is an update now! (I will usually update on Fridays, Saturday, Sundays, or Mondays. It's a break this week.)**

**If you read my story **_**Unknown Friendship**_**, you'd get this. If not, this will be a mindblower to you!**

**Warning: Mention of abuse, alcohol, might be slightly descriptive in an area, and it's DARK. Duh!**

**Read and _Review_! (How much can I stress this? Please! Although I love the ones I have, I want to know what you think, even if it's totally unrelated.)**

**Disclaimer: It's called _fan_fiction. I wouldn't be writing this if I were Rick, would I? No, I'd be writing _The House of Hades_. Enough has been said.**

**Continue with your lives people and read on!**

Fall Into Darkness

**The second time he fell was on his seventh birthday, **around eleven o'clock at night, just a few months after the first time he truly fell.

Percy had just managed to pick up his depressed butt and shove himself back into the world, but of course he _had_ to be knocked free of the grasp of reality he had, didn't he? He _had_ to have his brilliant plan become more difficult than it already was. Something _had_ to make things more difficult and challenging than it already was. It wasn't going to stop him though. He had stopped his fall into depression; he could go through with his plan.

The idea had come to him barely three weeks prior, but he knew he had to do it, or all was lost to him. He needed to break free of the terrible atmosphere he was surrounded by, because it did him and his depression no good, and he needed to make his loose grip on reality more firm, because being "crazy" didn't do anyone any good.

Percy was going to run away.

It had become official when he had packed his bag the night before, the night before his seventh birthday. The actual running away part became slightly easier when his mother had said that she had to work all day on August 18th, his birthday. That meant that she wouldn't start heading home until ten o'clock at night, and with the New York traffic, she wouldn't be home until nearing midnight.

On the morning of his birthday, Percy had awoken early enough to say goodbye to his mother and give her a lingering hug, their first true hug since _The Worst Day of His Life. _"I love you," he had mumbled into her side, breathing in a deep breath of her—candy and cookies and ice cream and a future cake he wouldn't get.

She had seemed surprised at his sudden outburst of _emotion_, but had gladly returned the hug and kissed his forehead with a loving "I love you, too, Percy."

He nodded into her side and breathed in one last deep breath of her incense, and then he slowly released her as she stepped out the door. Watching her disappear behind the closing door had been terribly _hard_ for him because he knew that that would be the last glimpse he would have of her for a long time, that he might not see her in a long time.

How right he had been.

Percy had spent the day hiding out in his room, checking and double checking his supplies and making sure not to annoy Smelly Gabe and his arriving poker buddies. He only left once to get one cup of water from the bathroom sink. When night had finally fallen around nine, he had slipped out of his room. Careful to be quiet, he had tip-toed through the kitchen and into the living room, which lead to the front door.

_Almost there_, he chanted to himself. _Almost there_.

Almost.

He had accidently stepped on a broken beer bottle that sent a _crack_ throughout the whole apartment, loud in the silence. And Gabe had passed out in the living room, right next to the source of noise. Oh joy.

Gabe woke up immediately and his arm stretched out to throttle Percy's neck. "Stupid, idiot"—he spat a string of curse words—"can't show me any respect and stay quiet for one day, can you? Huh?" He tightened his hold, and Percy let out a strangled gasp as he clawed at Gabe's meaty fingers. "Can you?"

Then Gabe threw him across the room. Percy's head cracked against the wall, and he fell into a heap on the floor. After mere seconds, groaning and clutching his head, he shakily stood up, only to be pulled into another vise-like grip by Gabe.

"You're just a pathetic piece of crap," he growled into Percy's ear. "I should just get rid of you for good." Percy shivered at the rank stench of alcohol that came off Gabe in waves. _Drunk_, he thought. _Gabe is drunk. Again. _

Suddenly Gabe tugged Percy around the corner and into the bathroom, forcing Percy's face right in front of the mirror. Standing there, losing oxygen from Gabe's choke-hold, Percy shivered at his pale, sunken face and toothpick like physique. He looked like death.

Then the image he saw changed as Smelly Gabe smashed his head into the mirror. The glass shattered against his head and sliced deep cuts into his face. Gabe pulled him back and he caught a horrific glimpse of his face, bloody and torn apart, before he was slammed into the broken mirror once again.

Then he blacked out.

When Percy woke up again, everything was pitch black. No—that wasn't even a good way to describe what he saw; there was nothing, absolutely nothing. Percy couldn't _see_ a thing. He felt around him and realized he was still in the bathroom. Clutching the counter for support, he hauled himself up and searched blindly for his special gray beanie; he put _hers_ in his back pocket. Percy placed his small packed bag on his back. Before walking out, he opened a bathroom drawer and pulled out one of Gabe's poker buddy's sunglasses that he had left. Placing them on over his eyes, he rushed out of the room, not caring if he made a noise.

In the lobby, he had asked the manager what time it was. The manager was wary of him, because he was "crazy," but told him it was right after eleven. Percy made up a lie, saying he'd wait right outside the hotel for his mother.

The manager had said nothing as Percy walked out the door, bumbling and tripping over his own feet, and didn't even look up as Percy made his way through the crowd of New York. The manager didn't feel a prick of morose when Ms. Jackson walked in without her son behind her, and when she ran back down, crying for her baby.

Percy ran and ran and ran—away. He ran away from home, and eventually he made it to a small wood, where he made a small living area, not that it was permanent; he was on the run now. He had not one single iota of an idea of where he was, but he didn't truly care. He was away—away from the sad atmosphere where people were mourning for a little girl that was alive; away from the men who had taken him to see where he would live after his birthday, a mental institution or asylum, because he was "crazy"; away from everyone and everything he knew.

But not everything was perfect.

He counted his apples and realized that he had not eaten one on his birthday. That meant what he had thought had happened on his birthday could be real, and that was a bad thing.

Days had passed and nights had come and gone, but Percy still saw only nothing.

The notion that he had had on his birthday became more and more like reality, until he finally admitted it was.

Percy was blind, and no one could save him from his fall into darkness.

**o.0 Yes, I made Percy _blind_. Yes, I am that _evil_ to make him _blind_. And yes, this _is_ going to lead to Percy's _past_.**

**It'll all come together sooner or later. Preferably sooner, right? **

**Remember how, in the beginning of tLT, Percy had said that he _saw_ a man with one eye when he was eight? Yeah, that didn't happen.**

_**Review**_**! Tell me what you think! Reviews make me smile and update sooner! **

**(Tell me who you think _she_ is! Give me ideas! Any errors I have! Not all of you can hate this. Seriously, it's the third chapter!)**

**Actually, I have an idea for a story, called _Through the Years. _PM me if you want to know more!**

**Peace and all that other stuff!**

**~XxxXGreek GeekXxxX **


	4. Fall Into Mourning

**THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR REVIEWS, FAVORITES, AND FOLLOWS!**

**Warning: You should know by now.**

**Second warning: It's not very good. **

**Oh, and don't kill me for not updating sooner! Here is the chapter! **

**I DO NOT OWN!**

Fall Into Mourning

**He lasted over a year before he fell again, **on May 11, 2003.

As it turns out, _she_ was not proclaimed dead, just missing. He didn't know that until mere weeks before he fell, and hope had surged through his body when he had heard the news. He grew happier, more open; he had a reason to hope, because _she_ would return. _She_ always came back.

Too bad all good things must end, and the one good thing that was swept from under Percy was hope. He lost hope.

It was May 11th,the date of _The Worst Day of His Life_, exactly two years after. Police officers and investigators and every other person with an important life-saver job were crowded into his living room, interrupting Smelly Gabe's oh-so-important poker game. His mother was there, too, sobbing silently.

"We're very, very sorry," one police officer was repeating; Percy guessed he was the person who had questioned him, from the sound of his voice. "But it's official: _she_ is dead. You can plan the funeral."

Percy felt the world begin to spin wildly. _She _was dead? No, no _she_ wasn't; the world would explode before _she_ left without a proper goodbye.

He stomped up to the officer, whose name he never felt the need to learn. "No! _She _isn't dead!" he shouted. "No! No! _No!_"

The officer crouched down and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Percy, but _she_ has been dead for a long time. It's just that no one had the heart to give up and admit it."

"No! No! _No!_" He clutched at his head and tugged at his hair. "_She_ isn't dead! _She _isn't dead! _She_ isn't dead!" It became a chant that he screamed over and over.

"Shut up, kid!" Gabe hollered. "Get over it. The girl is dead."

His eyes went wide behind his sunglasses and his nose flared; he then grew frighteningly quiet, waiting for people to turn, to watch, to listen.

It took barely any time at all.

"Listen people"—his voice was venomous with a sharp edge to it—"you know nothing of _her_. I knew everything about _her_. _She_ doesn't die." His blind eyes trailed over the whole group; they all shivered.

His mother got down in front of him. "But Percy, what if _she_ is dead?"

Percy gave no reaction to her comment. "Then _she_ would find a way back."

Someone snorted. "From the dead? I'm sorry, but that doesn't happen."

Again, no form of emotion came from him; he was a marble statue—perfectly still, unmoving, yet his eyes seemed to follow every movement, though no one could see them. "I know _her_ better than anyone, and _she_ would travel through the worst parts of hell to escape, smiling the whole way, knowing _she_ was getting one step closer to saying good bye. _She_. Does. Not. Just. _Leave_. _She_ will come back, because _she_ always does."

No one moved; no one even so much as breathed. Percy didn't care or know, because he was already heading to his room.

_So much for returning home_, he thought bitterly as he flopped on his bed. _I'll just be shadowed by police officers and doctors everyone I go, especially after my little speech. _

With that in thought, he rose from his bed in order to amend his outburst. Traveling slowly, he trailed his hand along the wall, but he stopped right before he rounded the corner. He tucked himself into a little ball against the wall and listened, something he's always been good at, and grew even better at when he went blind.

His mother, sniffling slightly, was whispering to someone. "Two weeks. The funeral, it can be in two weeks."

Percy was dumbfounded. They didn't believe him, not even his own mother, all because he was "crazy" and "in shock."

He slipped back to his room and packed a small bag.

Percy was gone before midnight, only leaving a small note, like he did the every time, and a single blue rose that no one knew how he got, a knew tradition. Being blind definitely didn't stop him from doing tradition. And as tradition goes, the manger didn't even look up from the computer, and he slipped through the door and left, again, with no one to stop him, with no one to keep him with them. Like anyone would care. He was "crazy."

He walked off, not knowing where his feet were leading him, not caring where he was going. As long as it was _away_, he was okay with it. _Just keep running; just keep running_, his brain urged. He began running—there was no use in leaving if people brought you back to where you were leaving from in the first place, right? _Just keep running, moving, leaving. _

Percy was in the forest, the same one he went into when he ran away the first time; he could tell because he found his old camp, where he finally allowed the reality that he was blind to sink in. He sat at his little camp site and thought it all out—what the police officer said, how no one believed him, the funeral.

The funeral. It was worse than a stab to the heart. At the funeral, people would be mourning for a living person. They would bury an empty casket. They would cry for _her_, and maybe even him, because he was dead to them, lost in his own mind.

And, to top it off, it was all on the date of _The Worst Day of His Life_, a day he never had a chance to eat an apple on.

Percy began to cry, sob heart-wrenching sobs, by himself in the wood. He was mourning, but not like them. He just wanted _her_ back; he missed _her_. He was mourning _her_ disappearance, his disappearance, their separation.

Because people don't have to mourn over death; mourning is sorrowing. And he had sorrow over many, many things.

It was the beginning of his fall into mourning.

**I know. I know. It's not my best work. But… yeah, that's it. Don't kill me!**

**_Review_****, favorite, follow! **

**Peace and all that other stuff.**

**~XxxXGreek GeekXxxX**


	5. Fall Into Memories

**Yay! Update time! And guess what? It's time to find out who ****_she_**** is! Okay, just read on, peeps.**

**I DO NOT OWN. (How old you think I am?)**

Fall Into Memories

**Again, he fell on May 11, 2004****_, _**exactly a year after the last time he fell.

He had returned home, as always, because he could not stay away—that would be cruel to his mother—and was now walking down the sidewalks of his city, money placed carefully in his pocket. He made his way by memory, listening to the voices around him so he wouldn't run into anybody.

Finally, he felt a large crack in the sidewalk and turned right. He couldn't see it, but he knew there was a large outdoor boutique in front of him. He placed his hand on the counter to get the owner's attention. "Mister," he said, stuffing one hand into his pocket for the money. "I have some requests."

The owner, Fleuri, turned to face him. "My boy, here for another blue rose? You know, those stand for unattainable or mysterious."

Percy bit his lower lip and nodded, pushing his sunglasses up higher on his nose. "No," he mumbled. "I'm not here for roses. I have other flowers in mind, thank you very much."

Fleuri—which Percy thought was a fitting name, meaning flower—placed a hand on the counter with a small _thud_. "Go for it."

"Okay, I want a few daffodils, anemones, statices, and heathers." He pulled out his wad of money, which he might have slipped from a couple peoples' pockets, and tossed it onto the counter. "Fifteen-thirty seven, right?" He dropped some coins onto the counter as well.

"Exactly," he heard the owner mutter, using his arm to slide the money to him. Fleuri cleared his throat. "Do you know what these flowers stand for?"

_Of course, _Percy thought. _Why would I ask for them otherwise? _"Several daffodils stand for rebirth, anemone stands for fading hope and anticipation, statice stand for remembrance, and heather symbolizes that wishes will come true."

"Yes, correct. Again." Flueri placed a bunch of flowers in his hands. "Thank you for your services."

Percy nodded and walked off at a brisk pace, dodging passerby and holding the bundle of flowers close to him for protection.

He ended up at a graveyard.

Stepping in carefully, he navigated his way through and around the gravestones, touching each one so he could find a specific person's, a specific girl's…

Here. His fingertips dance along the engraved letters and numbers along a stone. He plopped down on the ground before it, blind eyes staring at it. A sharp pain shot through his eyes. It had been three years since he had last seen _her_; he didn't even go to _her_ funeral—not that _she_ was dead. _She_ wasn't.

Percy began to cry, tears slowly dripping down his cheeks.

He sat there, crying, sobbing, completely _losing it_, for hours.

No one bothered him. That is, until a little girl, his age, came beside him. Too bad it wasn't _her_.

"Hey, Perce," she whispered. "What's up?"

"The sky," he replied bitterly. "Go away, Katie. I don't need your taunting right now for seeing me cry."

She gulped. "I'm not going to do that, Percy. I just want to know why you are _here_, instead of over _there_."

_There_ was home, but home was where the heart lies; his heart was missing.

"Fate is cruel. The best people have the rottenest luck. _She_ is the best person ever." No, no, no, no, no! He could feel himself slipping away, losing grip on reality.

'Madness,' they would say.

Maybe he was mad, insane.

"Yeah." Katie rubbed his back in soothing circles, but he kept flinching away.

Percy kept on flinching and wincing, rubbing his blood-shot eyes and shaking angry fists at the sky. He began blubbering about the lady who lived across from him—about how she advised his mother to send him away to an asylum, about how she loved tulips, about how he would give her tulips in a week's time.

Because, yeah, she only had a week left to live. He knew; he always knew.

Then he switched back to _her_. "_She_ isn't dead," he ranted. "I know. They don't. _She_ is alive. How much do ya wanna bet? _She_ is alive. Она жива. _Sie_ ist lebendig. _Hon_ är vid liv..."

Katie said not a word for the longest of times as he screamed incoherent words in a flurry of languages. Then, after Percy had calmed down enough to understand, and he was slowly making his trek back to the real world, she said something to him: "Do you know what acorns stand for?"

He hesitated. Images he would never see with his own eyes were flashing through in mind. He shook his head and pushed past those pictures. "Immortality. Acorns, they stand for immortality." He felt as if he were on a wave that was rising, rising higher and higher to the sky. As long as the wave kept on growing, he could maybe actually reach past the clouds and pull himself back to the world of the sane. If the wave crashed back down though, he would be drowned in his own insanity.

He was sick of not living in the present, only the past and future.

"Right," Katie whispered; she did not want him to have a, uh, _moment_ again.

"Why—why are you asking?" He scrunched up his eyebrows. Where was _she_? _She_ should be here. Weren't they just at Mom's work? _Snap out of it_, he ordered himself. She_ isn't here—yet. _

"You're right. You're always right."

"What does… that have to do with… acorns?" Percy mentally slapped himself. His words were abrupt and he could hear the hint of an accent. _English. Use English, Alaster. _Another pang of pain soared through him. _She_ called him Alaster.

He felt her shrug. "I guess it's a sign." She opened his hand and placed something in it.

It was an acorn.

Which stood for immortality.

That had to be some sort of sign.

"Bye, Percy. I'll see you later." She gave his back a pat and stood up. "Stay away from the past and the future now. Those memories are a pain." He could feel her smirk; she could tell he was fighting to win over madness.

Percy was alone again, clutching at the acorn like it was a life-saving drug.

He counted his apples, and sure enough, he had one that morning for breakfast.

Apples were lucky—his preference. Now he had another person on his side, another person who believed that _she_ was alive.

He stood up, sore from all the sitting, and grazed his fingers over the gravestone.

_Panthea Madison Jackson_

_1994-2001_

_We will remember our little fighter forever._

_She_ never did get her seventh birthday; _she_ was only six when _she_ disappeared. Now they were both nine.

He walked off, heading for his almost home.

"Memories are a pain," Katie had said. But she sort of saved him from them, along with _her_—always _her_. Memories could attack him another day.

Today he was saved him from his fall into memories.

**Yay! Done! So yeah, I'm a sucker for those 'Percy has a twin' stories. I actually made up Panthea before I even heard of FanFiction though. If you don't like, don't read. **

**Happier ending, is it not?**

**Can any of you guess what Percy's ability is? I mentioned it in Unknown Friendship, too. **

**Peace and all that other stuff.**

**~XxxXGreek GeekXxxX **


	6. Fall Into Love

**THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR REVIEWS, FAVORITES, AND FOLLOWS! **

**I DO NOT OWN. (No, seriously, how old do you guys think I am? I wanna know what level of awesomeness I am at.)**

_Okay, this contains Percabeth, so if you don't like it, I'm sorry; I ship Percabeth like no one else can. Just sayin'. _

**This takes place after ****_The Titan's Curse_****. **

Fall Into Love

**He managed to last years before he truly fell again. **

Sure, there were slipups and stumbles, but he never truly started that mad descent into a hole of depression or sadness or whatever to where he couldn't catch the edge of the chasm. He stayed up, up from falling. He caught himself every time.

Too bad it didn't last forever.

Percy was fourteen, had recently returned home after saving Artemis and Annabeth, found out Nico was a son of Hades, and was still scarred from the deaths. He was also still sore from holding up the weight of the sky, even after two weeks.

It happened while he was lying in bed at two o'clock in the morning. With a start, he realized that he was in _love_ with Annabeth. Maybe it was not a serious love, but a love to where he was allowing her to get close to him.

That could not happen. Bad things happened to people who got close to him; they got hurt.

Without thinking, Percy packed up a small bag (with apples, of course), wrote a note to his mother, placed a blue rose next to the note, and left by slipping out his window. He didn't want to deal with the new manager; she would ask where he was going and then send him back to his room.

Percy walked down the sidewalks and across the streets of New York, taking the familiar turns to the wood he always went to, but now he didn't have to do it blind.

It still was a wonder to him.

Percy cut through the wood, taking the careful steps to his campout that he had first created when he was seven. When he arrived, he promptly sat down in front of the nonexistent fire and thought.

Annabeth.

She was… amazing, to put in simple terms. Beautiful. Independent. Ingenious. And a whole list of other things. She also somewhat reminded him of _her_, in a strange and twisted way.

It set him on edge, how close he was to her. People who got close to him got hurt. It was a simple, not spoken fact.

And yet he _let_ her get close to him.

Percy felt his walls crumbling by his little stack of wood. He wanted to run and scream and cry all at once, because _he was so stupid_. If he knew—and he did, oh he knew—that people who got close to him got hurt, why would he still get close to a person?

Annabeth knew him, could read him. She was with him when he was nervous and when he didn't know what to do. (_Percy Jackson_, himself,_ not know what to do? Nervous? The very _idea_ is simply preposterous!_) And she kept getting closer and closer to his heart, ripping down his well-built walls—without even knowing it. She didn't know about his thick-layered, stacked high walls—nobody really knew how much of himself he kept hidden—but she was slowly inching her way to him, the _real_ him.

It was frightening to Percy. Like he was facing his biggest fear in the world.

It was driving him insane. Why couldn't he just go out there and be himself? Why did he have to stay protected? Why did it matter if he loved Annabeth Chase, Daughter of Athena?

Percy threw a lit match into his pile of sticks and wood chunks in his fury. It exploded upward, flames flying out to where the nearly touched his skin.

_Stupid_,_ stupid_,_ stupid_…

He went to sleep, using his pack as a pillow and the fire as his blanket.

When he woke up, he went back to asking himself questions over and over again.

He did this for a week, slowly slinking away from the real world.

Then he returned home.

Stepping though the front door, Percy noticed his mother rocking in her favorite rocking chair, Paul asking her what was wrong. Guilt rose in his heart, but he quickly pushed it away. He gave a small, shy wave. "Hey Mom," he said, beginning to walk toward her.

She shot out from her seat and crushed him in a Tyson hug. "Oh, Percy, Percy, Percy, what happened?" she asked, tears welling in her eyes.

He shrugged, looking over her shoulder at Paul, whom he had only seen face to face once before.

He gave his mother a real tight squeeze and kissed her on the cheek. "I just needed to think some things over," he answered, giving a tight smile and heading to his room.

Right before he managed to twist the doorknob, Paul stopped him. "Percy," he began, a curious tone to his voice, "where did you go?"

Percy became rigid all over. His runaways were usually kept secret, and not many people knew about them in the first place. When they did know… well, they stopped asking with a certain glare that was always sent their way. But this was Paul Blofis, and he made his mom _happy_.

"Percy…?" Paul sounded worried.

He turned, an ultra-fake smile plastered on his face. "It's nothing. Really."

Paul came over and placed a hand on his shoulder; he flinched slightly, before wiping away all discomfort. _Keep with it_, _Percy_, he told himself. _No need to lose it now_.

"Percy, seriously, what happened? Your mother was worried sick for you, and…" Paul trailed off.

_She insisted not to call the police_, _that you would come back_. The words were unspoken, but Percy knew.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. _Play with his mind_, he knew was his only immediate resolve. "Really, Paul? Didn't you see that I left a note? I was just visiting a place." It wasn't a lie—not at all—but it wasn't the total truth, too. He gave his usual lop-sided grin, which was the ultimate winner in convincing people that everything was fine. Although, he did smile like that normally, too, but it worked for acting.

Paul still looked wary, like he was not all that happy with his answer, but gave a stiff nod anyways, backing up. "Okay, Percy," he said. "But… if there's anything bothering you, just come and see me." He gave a weak smile.

Percy watched him until he was around the corner, and then slipped into his room. There, his façade crumbled; his shoulders sagged, his limbs became weak with despair, and his mind went into a wild cyclone of anything and everything. He slumped onto his bed, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes.

_Don't lose it_, he ordered himself. _Don't lose it_.

He released a deep breath of air, and he flipped over on his bed, spotting a picture of _Annabeth_.

He went back to his questioning he had done while he was gone and came to the same conclusion: _It doesn't matter_.

He loved Annabeth, and he didn't care.

Besides, not all falls were bad, like, for example, a fall into love.

**Yay! Done! Like? Dislike? Tell me in ****_reviews_**** or PMs. Please? **

**OF IMPORTANCE—YOU MIGHT WANT TO KNOW THIS:**

**The next chapter is the last chapter. Sorry guys, but I cannot make Percy ****_totally_**** miserable. The next chapter—which is also the ****_last _****chapter—is just going to be a wrap-up, for your information. **

**Peace and all that other stuff.**

**~XxxXGreek GeekXxxX **


	7. Falling, Falling, Falling, Stop

**So… I know I've disappeared for a long time—and even though it's no excuse—but I've been busy! Anyway, last chapter is up!**

**Post MoA.**

**DOES IT SEEM LIKE I OWN THIS? I AM A ****_TEENAGE GIRL_****, THUS, I DO NOT OWN. **

Falling, Falling, Falling, Stop

**_Chiron's POV_**

**Chiron was slightly nervous.**

Truthfully, there was no reason to be nervous, not at all, but Chiron still was. The Seven plus Nico di Angelo were landing at Camp Half-Blood—soon, and even though he wanted to see them, know they were alive, he wasn't ready; he wasn't ready to see any of them.

Especially Nico di Angelo, Annabeth Chase, and Percy Jackson.

They all three had fallen into Tartarus, the deepest part of the Underworld, and he knew they would be broken, a sight be didn't want to see.

But he couldn't leave—it would be too late anyways, because the _Argo ll _was already landing.

Chiron watched wide eyed as the trio he was nearly hoping to avoid climbed down the ladder. First came Nico—eyes even darker and emptier than before and body little more than a twig. Annabeth came next—hair even more tangled than usual and face hollow and empty looking; her eyes no longer held a light of triumph and wisdom. Lastly came Percy, whom Chiron wanted to see the least, and he unwillingly remembering a dark, quiet night years ago in the Poseidon cabin. Yes, he wanted nothing more than to avoid the broken, sad face of Perseus.

So Chiron was very surprised when Percy, who as a boy had told him that he had fallen before, climbed down the ladder and turned to the crowd of campers with a smile on his face and with his eyes gleaming wickedly, like something mischievous was crawling through his brain.

Like he hadn't just escaped with barely a thread of life from Hell.

That very much surprised Chiron indeed.

**0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o**

**Chiron was checking all the campers in their cabins again.**

He had done this for years, and no one ever knew—except for Percy. He shook his head and walked onward, slowly nearing the cabin he had saved for last. Blinking up at the low, sea smelling cabin, he, again, couldn't help but remember that night oh-so-many years ago. Sometimes it felt like a dream, a really weird dream that showed young Perseus as a broken boy who could never trust.

But, he would remind himself, it wasn't.

Chiron continued to clop toward the cabin, already feeling the rumbles created from Tyson's snoring. He was nearing the steps, about to open the door, when that nagging feeling, something he hadn't felt since he had that conversation with Percy, blossomed in the back of his mind. Tilting his head back, he retraced his step till he could see the top of cabin three.

And he was not expecting what he saw.

Percy was sitting on top of the building, hugging his knees and slowly rocking back and forth. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be mumbling to himself. This was not the seemingly strong hero who had stepped off the _Argo ll_—not at all—but it wasn't the young, broken boy who had seen too much either.

No, this boy was… _lost_.

Chiron was about to call the hero down, when his eyes snapped open; he unfurled from his previous position and gave a sly grin at Chiron. "Nice to see you still check up on all of us." His voice seemed strange, but Chiron ignored it; he had finally realized that nothing the boy did would ever seem normal, even by the gods' standards.

"What are you doing up there, child?" he asked, motioning for him to come down.

Percy shrugged. "I was thinking." Then he dropped like a stone off the roof.

Chiron was expecting many things—mainly all including broken bones—so he was, _again_, surprised when Percy landed _silently _on his feet. _Yes_, Chiron thought to himself, _I must stop making assumptions with this one. I shall never quite understand._ He cleared his throat, tongue twisted on the words begging to be spoken, all of them questions. Then, _so very_ etiquette of him, he blurted, "How are you so—so _happy_ after just escaping Hell? Does it not bother you at all?" He winced afterwards, silently wishing he could take it back.

Percy waved his hand dismissively, and Chiron felt like a child, which was odd, since he was thousands of years old and Percy was not quite even seventeen. "You look like you're about to die," Percy chuckled lowly. "It's okay." He shoved his hands into his pockets.

Chiron repeated his questions, but much more put together: "How, Perseus? How can you act like nothing happened?"

Percy cocked his head to the side and rocked on his heel, his eyes fluttering closed once again; he breathed in deeply. "Truthfully, I have no idea. I guess—I guess I'm sick of all the falling and pain and I just want it to stop."

_Falling_. Chiron remembered Perseus mention falling before, but… he still didn't understand; he wanted—_needed_—to understand.

Percy smirked slightly, like he knew exactly what was running through Chiron's mind, no matter how jumbled it was. "Chiron," Percy started. "Do you remember right after I got Zeus's lightning bolt—that little conversation we had?" Chiron nodded mutely. "Well, I've fallen before, as you know, and I learned recently that falling figuratively and physically isn't all that different." Percy wasn't rocking on his heels anymore; instead, he was swaying, as if in a trance.

It sent chills up Chiron's spine. "But what was it like? Falling, I mean. Can I have an example to help me understand?" This whole thing was too bizarre, even for the old centaur. _He _was the one asking the questions, not the other way around.

Percy stopped swaying momentarily, more still than a statue could hope to ever be. "Do you know one of the real reasons why I despise Dionysus? Besides being obnoxious and arrogant? "

This was veering off course. He waited quietly, searching for a distant rumble of thunder—for saying Mr. D's real name and for saying that he despised him. There was nothing. Chiron gulped, his throat dry like sandpaper. "No. I had no idea that there was another reason."

"Because he's the god of madness." Chiron had thought that he was confused before, but now he was totally lost. Percy continued, "Do you know what it's like to be mad—completely and utterly insane?"

Chiron shuffled on his hooves nervously. "No."

Percy wrinkled his nose. "It isn't fun, I'll tell you that." He paused. "Getting trapped inside your own brain, not knowing what's going on, even though you're right there…" His voice rose, and his hands were shaking inside his pockets. "It just isn't fun." Percy slumped onto the ground, pulling his arms out and curling in on himself again.

Chiron blinked. Twice. _He was insane? Since when? _

Percy looked up at him with sad, sad eyes, eyes that shouldn't be on a teenager—eyes that shouldn't be on anyone. "It just sucks. Believe me, I know." Another long silence stretched between them. "And I was sick of it—being sad and alone in my own little world of depression. So, this time, when I actually fell physically, I didn't let it get to me. I won't let it get to me." He sighed, tilting his head to the sky.

Chiron was speechless. Yes, the little speech was vague, but he got the point: Percy was sick of all the hurt. At least, that's what Chiron figured that was the message; he wasn't absolutely sure. "So," he began, "you have 'fallen' before because of… madness?"

Percy laughed silently, swiping a hand through his hair. "Yeah. About every time it was involved." His voice was bitter even though he had laughed.

He waited patiently, because he wanted more than just _madness_. When nothing came, he asked for it himself. "But what does it feel like, Perseus?"

"Like you're in an actual hole that you can't ever seem to get out of, unless you dig another hole." Percy's eyes were shut tight, and Chiron could see his eyeballs moving behind them.

"You would be… trapped."

"Exactly. You'd be falling, falling, falling, falling… But now I've stopped. I've stopped falling." There was a victorious tone to his voice that told a story, if not the whole one.

Chiron stared. "You can leave that behind now."

"Yeah. Yeah, I can."

Chiron left after that, not thoroughly satisfied, but enough to not pry into Percy's life. It was obvious that that boy had faced challenges as painful and dark as Tartarus before, and so Chiron didn't mind if he kept them to himself.

He clopped off, already noticing the dim line of dawn approaching.

The only thing he wished for that very night and for many afterward was to know more about Perseus Jackson.

But oh, how he learned more later on.

And oh, how he should have left it all as it was.

**So, so, so, ****_so_**** sorry for not updating sooner! I've had slight writer's block and tons of homework. (Who says the end of the year is the best time. 'Cause it's not.)**

**Anyway, last chapter up and finished… with some evil foreshadowing. Mwa ha ha ha!**

**And thank you all who have read this entire story! It warms my heart! **

**Review and favorite!**

**Peace and all that other stuff.**

**~XxxXGreek GeekXxxX**

**P.S. I've been thinking/writing a sequel to this, called "Through the Years". Basically, it's Sally's POV of everything her son has been through. Tell me if you're interested. **


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